Longer to Grow
by Idle Leaves
Summary: Fourth Age, Valinor. Sometimes it just takes longer to grow. E/G.


**Cast: **Erestor, Glorfindel.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written for Zhie, for the 2012 Slashy Valentine exchange.  
><strong>Length: <strong>~3100 words  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Sometimes it just takes longer to grow.

**-**  
><strong>LONGER TO GROW<strong>  
><strong>-<br>**

The knock comes far earlier than expected. It's barely mid-morning, the garden behind the house still in long shadow cast by the rising sun. Erestor pauses for only a moment before rising to his feet and brushing earth from his hands and knees; as he steps into full sunlight he finds Glorfindel waiting at his front door.

"You're early," he says.

"And you're filthy," Glorfindel counters, but holds out his arms regardless.

Erestor readily accepts, and returns, the embrace. "That's a fine way to say hello." He feels Glorfindel's soft laugh as much as hears it.

"Come," he says, when they part, and leads Glorfindel inside, to the study at the end of a narrow hall, before excusing himself for just long enough to clean his hands and find fresh clothing. When he returns, he finds Glorfindel not seated, but drifting around the room lost in thought, looking over the shelves that line a wall. He reaches out, once, to brush his fingers along the spine of a book bound in dark leather. A fleeting smile ghosts across his face, and Erestor's, as well; the book had been a gift, from one to the other, more years ago than Erestor cares to admit.

He waits until Glorfindel stops in front of the window before making his presence known again. "Shall we?" he asks, motioning to the pair of chairs in front of an unlit fireplace.

Once seated, Glorfindel's first words are, "I have nothing to say to you. Yet," he continues, "everything, as well."

It's more blunt than Erestor would have phrased it, but true, nonetheless; it seems like both an eternity and an instant since they were last face-to-face. "It's good to see you," he says, simply.

The brief silence that follows is anticipatory rather than awkward, then Glorfindel leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees, his hair falling forward over his shoulders. "So," he says. "Where shall we start?"

* * *

><p>"Another day and I may call it finished," Glorfindel says.<p>

Erestor refrains from pointing out that he'd already be finished if he'd accepted any help, at all – settling back in to the home he'd left behind to sail back across the sea seems to be something that Glorfindel had needed to do on his own. The windows are open, now, and a light, cool breeze stirs the air. The stale stillness that Erestor had noticed the first time he'd visited, a fortnight ago, is gone; with the dust-covers removed from the furniture and the crates unpacked, the house feels lived-in, again, rather than something like a memorial. His hand rests on the carved stair-rail, the scroll-work under his fingers just another detail, like the shape of the stones fitted together for the outside walls, that speaks to him, quietly, of an earlier time.

"It's in remarkable condition, really," he says, "considering it was—" He stops before he can say _abandoned_. "—Unoccupied for so long."

"You can thank my sister for that," Glorfindel replies, as he kneels to close, then latch, an empty trunk. "She made sure nothing fell into disrepair." He takes the hand that Erestor offers to help him to his feet. "I changed my mind," he says, after glancing out the window. "If you're still willing, there's something I might like help with."

Erestor follows him down the stairs to the back door, and then, into the garden. Left to grow wild over the years, the assorted flowers and greenery had mingled and spread, even pushing up from between the stones that had marked the borders of the flower beds. "Chaotic," Glorfindel says, "untidy, and badly in need of tending. I thought, perhaps, since you've spent so much time with your own garden – which still surprises me, a little – you might help me plan how to fix this up again."

"It surprises you?"

"It does," says Glorfindel. "Only because I'd never known you, before, to plant for pleasure rather than purpose."

"Things change, I suppose," says Erestor, bending to examine a patch of dark, flowerless foliage.

"As do we," Glorfindel says, "much as some of us may fight against it, at times." He nods to the grass at his feet. "There used to be a path, here. It curved away from the door, and ended at the trees." He walks the path that no longer shows, to a low stone bench under a beech tree.

Erestor follows, but slowly. "You already know that the overgrowth should be cut back," he says. "And some of the bulbs can be divided, though it's best to wait until flowering's done. It could all do with some drastic reorganisation – have you decided how you'd like it to look, when it's tidied?"

Glorfindel doesn't answer, and his eyes are fixed on some point in the distance.

Erestor crosses his arms. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Glorfindel says, quickly. "Sorry. You were saying?"

Rather than repeat himself, Erestor comes to sit beside Glorfindel, in the shade. "Where were you, just now?" he asks.

"On another bench, under another beech tree."

There had been no shortage of benches in the valley's gardens, but one in particular, under a beech with bright copper leaves, had allowed Erestor to easily survey the comings and goings of scouts and patrols, as well as visitors to the main halls. It hadn't been strictly necessary – his subordinates were more than capable – yet, occasionally, when not on duty, he would find himself there, regardless.

"Spent a fair amount of time there, didn't we," Glorfindel says. It isn't meant as a question.

It had started, for Erestor, as a quiet place to read and observe; it had become, though, a place of conversation and companionship, Erestor's books held closed on his lap. Their scattered mornings, afternoons, and evenings all blended together, now, in his mind and memories, but their starlit nights, infrequent as they were, still stood out sharp and clear.

"Those last years, it was quiet as midnight even in broad day," says Glorfindel. "The cottages were empty, entire wings of the main halls were closed off, and the gardens were left to grow unchecked and untended. There weren't enough of us left to maintain it all, though we did all we could. Even when night fell and we gathered together – even when there was music, or song – still the silence was there, beyond the firelight." He folds his hands together in his lap. "It was time for me – for us. But leaving it behind was more difficult than I anticipated. The walls will stand until the valley itself crumbles around them, but everything else is lost."

"Gone," Erestor says, gently. "Not lost."

"Sometimes it feels the same."

Erestor raises a hand and lays it on Glorfindel's shoulder. "I know."

"Forgive me," Glorfindel says, with a somewhat less than convincing smile and a quick shake of his head. "I don't mean to cast a shadow over the afternoon. Now," he continues, standing, "What do you suggest I do with the sea of snowdrops at my feet?"

* * *

><p>Erestor stops, for a moment, when he hears his name. They'd had no plans to meet that evening, yet he's not at all startled to find Glorfindel behind him, midnight-blue cloak swinging as he strides to catch up. His more-formal-than-usual attire is hard to ignore; Erestor asks "Where have you been, tonight?" as he approaches.<p>

"Visiting cousins," answers Glorfindel.

"The ones you like or the ones you don't?"

When Glorfindel laughs, the silver clasps at his throat glint in the moonlight. "The former. You're on your way home?"

Erestor nods. "I spent the evening with Elrond, Celebrían, and–" He pauses, and chuckles softly. "I very nearly said 'the children'. It's been a long time since they were that."

"Oh, a few years, perhaps," Glorfindel says.

A vague, almost bittersweet feeling still clings to the edges of Erestor's mind. Though the larger part of the evening had found them all content, even cheerful, once Elrond's wife and sons retired for the evening Erestor had joined him on the terrace for a last cup of wine. The conversation had chosen, then, to take a turn down the long paths of memory, and though all of the recollections were pleasant ones, they had left Erestor lingering in the past. "Old thoughts," he says, and is not aware, at first, that he has spoken out loud.

"Old thoughts?" repeats Glorfindel.

"Yes," says Erestor, and does not elaborate further. He continues to walk, with Glorfindel beside him, down the city's wide cobblestone streets, as fragments of words, laughter, and song float through the air, carried on the breeze. Neither speak, again, until after the streets have given way to narrow, less-travelled roads.

"Were you ready, then?" Glorfindel asks, his voice quiet and careful. "Honestly."

Erestor's response is immediate. "Yes." Though he can feel Glorfindel watching him, he does not turn to meet his eyes. Instead, he looks to the moon, now dimmed but not hidden by drifting cloud. "I could have waited, though," he admits. "I wasn't unprepared, but I could have waited. Years, if necessary."

"Yet you chose to sail," says Glorfindel, neither argumentative nor judgemental. "You're loyal to a fault, Erestor."

"I've been accused of worse," Erestor replies. "It wasn't a quick decision," he says, then. "And neither was it something I felt would be made easier by discussing it – with you, or with anyone else. I did have reasons, and ones that...' He trails off, and sighs before picking up again. "… Are too complicated to put into words tonight. Unless, of course, you'd like to forego sleep and listen until the sun rises." His voice is light, as he finishes, but Glorfindel's eyes remain serious.

"I would," he says, "if that's what you needed."

There is music, nearby. Glorfindel picks up the melody and begins to sing, quietly, as they walk along – a song of love, loyalty, and the passage of time – and he continues even when the other voices fade behind them.

"I'd do the same for you, you know," Erestor says, when at last Glorfindel falls silent.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, then slips his arm, briefly, around Erestor's shoulders. "We should ride out," he decides. "Pick a direction, ride until the moon rises, then sleep wherever we find ourselves. Like we used to."

"I'd like that," says Erestor. "It's been far too long. We – wait," he says, abruptly, and comes to a halt. "You've gone a bit out of your way," he continues. "Missed a turn, quite a while back." The route they'd travelled had taken them toward Erestor's home but away from Glorfindel's, and the air was cooling, with the wind picking up speed.

Glorfindel shrugs. "It's all right. I'm in no hurry, and it's a decent night for a walk. That is, if you don't mind the company."

"Never," says Erestor.

* * *

><p>"Do you ever arrive when expected?"<p>

"No," says Glorfindel, brightly. Though Erestor steps back to allow him through the door, he does not move forward. "This belongs outside," he says, inclining his head toward the narrow wooden box tucked under one arm.

"What's that?" Erestor asks.

Glorfindel places the box in his hands. "Fire lilies," he answers.

A surprised, and pleased, smile spreads across Erestor's face. The box lid comes off easily, revealing a bundle of lilies, all with the smallest beginnings of buds that promise vivid, flame-coloured flowers.

"My sister had an abundance of them – too many, really – and I remembered that you'd been looking for some to plant near that red oak, so..."

"Thank you," Erestor says, though two words hardly seem enough. Glorfindel follows him, then, not inside but to the garden, and Erestor sets the box down near a recently-cleared patch of earth. "I'll plant them right here."

"Or we'll plant them," says Glorfindel. "If you'll tell me where you keep your tools."

"Inside and to the left of the back door, but all I'll – we'll – really need is my trowel."

By the time Glorfindel returns, trowel in hand, Erestor has laid the lilies on the grass and begun to unwrap the fabric tied around each bulb to offer some protection between gardens. "Let me," Glorfindel says, sitting cross-legged on the ground beside him. He gathers the lilies into his lap, and holds out the first once Erestor has made a place for it, in the soil.

Midway through the planting, Erestor says, "I appreciate this."

"It was no trouble. I knew you'd like them," he says, turning one lily over in his hands. "This one's small."

"It's all right, though," says Erestor after a quick inspection. "It'll be as strong as the others, most likely. It's just taking a bit longer to grow."

"Most likely," echoes Glorfindel, his voice oddly contemplative. Erestor pauses only long enough to look over his shoulder and offer him a wordless smile. "You _have _changed, you know," Glorfindel says, after watching Erestor plant for several minutes. "You're less," he continues, then seems to search for the right words. "Sharp."

"Oh," Erestor says, managing, with effort, to keep a straight face. "I'm dull, now."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Glorfindel says, but he laughs. "I only meant that you're less driven than you used to be."

"There's less to drive me," Erestor says.

Glorfindel's first response is a slow nod. "Indeed there is," he says, eventually.

"It took some time to adjust, honestly," says Erestor. "No scouts reporting in. No patrols to manage, or training to supervise. I can't even remember the last time I handled my sword. I no longer feel that I should always be ready to-

"Defend," Glorfindel finishes for him. "To protect."

"Yes," says Erestor, and for some reason he is relieved that Glorfindel understands. He pushes his hair away from his face, and takes the last lily from Glorfindel's hands.

As he pats the soil down around the bulb, Glorfindel touches his shoulder. "You have dirt on your face," he says, and reaches to brush it away. He pauses, then, and his hand lingers on Erestor's face far longer than necessary. Erestor does not pull back, not even when Glorfindel's thumb strokes over his cheek. He takes a deep breath, moments later, and Glorfindel abruptly withdraws his hand.

"I think we're finished, here," Erestor says, quietly.

Glorfindel busies himself with putting all the scraps of fabric back into the lily box. "Perhaps I should go," he says. "You've things to do, I would imagine."

"No," says Erestor, and Glorfindel looks up to meet his eyes. "You've only just arrived. Come inside. Stay for a while."

Glorfindel nods. "All right," he says, and together, they rise.

* * *

><p>The city's lamps are far enough behind them that they appear as little more than blue-white blurs in the distance, one that mimics, but does not outshine, the stars. They've chosen to rest, for the night – after riding all afternoon and into the evening – by the banks of a shallow, rocky stream. Behind them, the woods are still, save for the rustle of wings.<p>

"I can't even remember," Glorfindel is saying, as he pours himself another cup of wine from a bottle that's close to empty. "It was late summer... no, well into autumn, because the leaves were turning, and Gildor's company had just passed through. You had travelled to the Havens, and I'd wondered if you'd overwinter there, or if you'd come home."

Erestor stretches his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankle. "I came home," he says. His own cup is still full, but only because he'd refilled it a short time ago; he's drunk just enough, by now, to start warmth spreading through him. The wine had been Glorfindel's idea – it had never been practical, before. Even in the relative safety of the valley, spending a night far from the cottages and halls meant taking turns at the watch.

"You always came home," says Glorfindel. After a time, he lies down with his head on Erestor's shins. "You're more comfortable than the ground."

"I suppose I'll consider that a compliment," Erestor says.

"You should," says Glorfindel, with a yawn; his hands are linked together and resting on his belly.

Perhaps it can be blamed on the wine, or the solitude, but Erestor finds himself speaking of things he hadn't intended to share that night. "I despaired of you ever sailing," he admits, looking not at Glorfindel, but the stars above.

Glorfindel's brow furrows. "There was barely a hundred years between your departure and mine," he says.

"I know," said Erestor. "But even before I left, when you told us you'd follow, in time... I doubted you. I didn't think you were being untruthful, just..." He pauses to choose his words. "You seemed so attached. To the valley, to those shores."

"It started here," says Glorfindel, his eyes blinking open. "And it was always meant to end here, as well."

"Do you feel that way, then?" Erestor asks. "Like this is an ending?"

"Yes," replies Glorfindel. "But a beginning, as well."

Erestor's only response is to reach out, without thinking, and tuck a loose strand of Glorfindel's hair behind his ear. Glorfindel makes a soft, contented sound; his eyes drift closed, again, and Erestor strokes his fingers over Glorfindel's brow, his temple, his jaw.

Glorfindel abruptly sits up, and, with one hand, raises Erestor's chin so their eyes meet.

"Do I have dirt on my face, again?" Erestor asks.

"No," says Glorfindel.

It's barely even a kiss, at first – just a soft brush of lips against lips. It's unexpected, yet Erestor is not startled, not at what seems suddenly, clearly, to be the next step down the path they've been walking for some time. Out of all the responses that rush through his mind, when they part, the one that comes out in words is, "You might have asked, first." He manages, then, something near a smile.

"Sorry," Glorfindel says. He does not sound apologetic; the word is a warm exhalation of breath against Erestor's cheek. "May I, then?"

"Again?"

"Yes."

"If you must," says Erestor. This time it's deep, slow, lingering, and any remaining uncertainty falls away.

* * *

><p>He wakes, slowly, and at first cannot remember if he's in Glorfindel's bed or his own – he's spent as much time in one as the other, these past weeks. Glorfindel is beside him, but not sleeping; his blue-grey eyes are already open.<p>

"How long have we known each other?" Erestor asks.

"Mm," Glorfindel murmurs, nudging Erestor onto his back so he can lay his head on his shoulder. "A long time."

"Precise, as always."

"Why do you ask?"

Erestor takes Glorfindel's hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the palm. "All that time, and..."

"I suppose," Glorfindel says, "it just took longer to grow."


End file.
